No Gun
by inkedfingers
Summary: "The Devil makes us sin, but we love it when we're spinning in his grip." A traveler returns to Rook Islands to find the former tropical paradise ravaged by the drug overlord Hoyt Volker. She cannot return to her former life, but can she learn to accept her choices? Dark themes. Graphic descriptions of violence, torture, war, slavery and manipulation. Vaas/OC.
1. Prologue

The plane began to descend. I looked towards the heavy hung sun out of the cracked window, the two propellers hanging from the wing cut through the blood orange light rhythmically. A quick drop in altitude came and we were circling to land at the Island airport. The last time I had landed here had been in a thunderstorm, rain had poured in through the rusted rivets holding the elderly DC10 together. My sole companion, a young man clutching a suitcase and duffel bag hung on to the seat in front as his dog looked up for comfort, tail in between his legs. Coming into Thurston Island Airport was never a nice experience. A flat plain between two large rocky mountains required a sudden drop to achieve the correct altitude. I had always hated flying, the connecting flights especially, I hadn't eaten, my iPod was dead and I was in dire need of a shower, but tonight excitement bubbled in my stomach. The clear blue waters below me were replaced with the dark red silhouette of the jungle and the industrial buildings of Thurston. A loud bang, I bounced on the worn leather seat. We had arrived.

"We're here" The co-pilot turned out of his seat, the only distinguishable features his military fatigues, a handgun and aviators. He smiled a toothy grin as he opened the rusted door and deployed a set of rickety makeshift plane steps. The man next to me departed. I helped him with his luggage, and lowered his dog to him. "Please come fly with us again" he said while motioning with his hands to get out the plane, I dropped down the steps and my huge case was thrown out at me followed by another grin. He slammed the door shut, the propellers came back up to full speed and they taxied away as quickly as we had landed. No fuel, no paperwork, they just flew away.

For a moment we stood there, the man, his little dog and me. He sighed as he lit a cigarette, I couldn't tell if it for the better or the worse. He waved a cigarette at me while wiping the beaded sweat under his cap. His accent was heavy over his broken English.

"Girl you smoke?"

"No. Thank-you", I smiled politely. "Can I help with your bags?" I tried to explain using my hands, and put his duffels on top of my suitcase wheels. He looked at me blankly and nodded. I held my hand up to my forehead and shielded my eyes from the low light, across the runway the exit was right at the end, a mile maybe two. I smiled awkwardly to the man, "I guess we'd better try and beat the sun."


	2. Thurston Airstrip

**Authors Note:**

I Hope you enjoy reading this story, please feel free to add reviews and critiques. I am interested to see who is still actively following the Farcry 3 canon.

A little explanation, some locations and characters in this story are my own creation. The location of Rook Islands within my story universe is in Melanesia, close to Fiji - although I do not state this explicitly in the story.

I love reading Vaas/OC stories, and I wanted to create something realistic, gritty and dark. Something Vaas would be proud of himself. For that reason it is rated M, there will be scenes of violence, violence against women, torture, mental and physical bondage.

ENJOY  
xxx Z xxx

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As we approached the tiny concrete building, I expected to see the familiar smoke plumes of the chain smoking native woman behind the desk, Instead there stood a tall bearded guard, dressed head to toe in combat gear, an AK47 hung at his chest.

"Papers." The American demanded staring only at the man in front of me chewing his gum obnoxiously. The man set his hand luggage on the floor and began to rummage, "come on come on, we got a queue goin' on here", he winked at me and started to slow clap at the man. Two guards waited at the exit, I didn't know much about guns, but I knew AK47's were hardly military issue.

Murmuring something in his native tongue and patting his dog, the man shakily produced a worn looking fake passport, a hand written note on the inside. "Fucking jackpot" the American mocked "Welcome back fuck face enjoy your stay" he smiled derisively and pointed to his men to search his baggage.

"Papers" Again, chewing. I handed him my passport and ID. I smiled cautiously,

"What happened to the Airport, Islanders used to run the office here?"

"Evolution baby" he winked again. He handed my passport to me before raising his index finger rudely, cocking his head to the radio wired into his ear.

"Yeah we've got a positive on that, Native, Male, 45. Yeah, affirmative, sending on way now Sir. The other? We have a female, 25, British, 3rd visit in 5 years." He eyed me "I'd say so, yes Boss, right away."

The door to the exit swang shut and I looked away to see the man I had travelled with was gone. Just an assortment of his valuables left on the floor, one of the guards was pocketing a wad of cash, trying not to make eye contact I spun back,

"Everything all right?" I fidgeted nervously, he snapped the ID with his camera phone and began to type.

"Security. A lot has changed since 2010" He pushed my ID into his arm pocket while the two guards laughed like they were sharing a private joke. "What's your business on South Island?"  
"My Visa is good for 2 years right?" He nodded, "I've bought property on the North Island, I need passage through" He continued typing into his phone.

"Do you have transport arranged?"

"I have friends collecting me"-

-"Who" he interrupted and surveyed my expression closely,

"Lin, Petre and Maarta" after he finished typing he looked up blinked and gave me a look that told me to continue..."Maarta and Petre are friends I worked for during my first two stays here on Rook Island, she and her family are helping me out while I get the house sorted", one of the tall guards approached me and I grabbed the handle of my case tightly.

"Well isn't that nice" The tall guard replied still very much in my personal space. A sudden whooshing noise came from the Americans phone as the email was sent.

"Do you know anything about my cargo?"  
"Cargo!" The American chortled, "Fuck, girl you know this isn't the fucking postal office" I rolled my eyes.

"So can you tell me where I collect it, Please?" I squirmed at the word, please, he didn't deserve it. "Surely it came through here, It's all I have"

"A lot of stuff comes through here Missy, A lot goes missing these days" He winked."The Boss knows you are here, stay out of trouble if you don't want to get lost yourself, that is."

"I'm counting on it" I snapped, smiling as bitterly as I could.

I quickly realised that the village and township I was returning to might not be as happy as I had remembered it. The 3rd silent guard opened the door for me and I turned into the dark blue, balmy night. Before the door shut the first American jeered, "Well I have your ID Miss Roys, we can find you. Enjoy your stay"


	3. Stranded

Tired and confused I walked towards the phone box at the side of the run down gas station, picking it up I found the slip of paper in my rucksack with the village phone number. The receiver was dirty and a crusted hand print covered the dial pad, I cautiously brought the earpiece to my face and found no dial tone. "Shit". I smashed it down on the hook, looking around for a replacement phone I noticed the telegraph wire attached to the box was frayed and hanging in the breeze. "Brilliant" I thought to myself. I knew I would have to go back to the guards and ask to borrow their phone. Why aren't they here yet, we confirmed everything on the phone yesterday.

Reluctantly I moved back towards the concrete building. I cursed the idea of having to ask them for a favour. Opening the door shyly I squeaked,

"The phone doesn't work" I swallowed "The one over there, it's fucked".  
Just the American guard remained, he was sat at the desk cigarette in between his chapped lips."Changed your mind already?" He exhaled, smirking arrogantly, "or did you just miss me?". He stuck his tongue out and winked again. "You can use this, here" the American unclasped something from his belt and outstretching his palm he handed me a huge satellite phone. "You need to dial 0900 first".

My hands shook as I tapped the number into the pad, his stare was repulsive.

"You shouldn't be scared of me" he leant back into the chair scratching his rough beard, "It's the fucking gooks you want to watch out for, the niggers" I took a step back, "you know it used to be a nice place here, tropical paradise." He laughed "there are whores here who will give you anything for ten American dollars. Ten fucking dollars, I'm a rich man baby." I winced and he grinned as if he enjoyed making me uncomfortable. "There are pirates here too - you know?" he punctuated his vile monologue with a tap of his cigarette looking at me expectantly.

Car lights flooded the room and I sighed with relief.

"You're talking to the wrong person". Before I could register, Maarta was climbing out the car and rushing towards the door.  
"Hannah! You are finally arrived!" Her smile was much appreciated.

"You have no idea, I'm so glad to see you."  
"We are sorry we are late. Hurry" she tugged at my sleeve and grabbed my suitcase.

I smiled as politely as I could to the American. "Thank-you" I left the satellite phone on the desk, turned and hurriedly piled into the small car after her.


	4. Laluktua

The few lights that illuminated the bumpy road flickered against the interior of the small, rusty car. A rogue spring escaped from the worn upholstery and dug into my leg as we bounced towards the dark jungle. Repositioning myself I clutched onto my rucksack with one hand the other braced against the car door. Maarta turned to me from the passenger seat, I hadn't had time to register before, but she had aged. Her features were heavy and pained, grey flecks escaped from behind her ears, proud against her smooth black hair.

"We are sorry, we are late. There was block in the road, men stop us from coming" Her English was scarce and she couldn't find the words.

"Don't worry Maarta, we are all together now" I smiled appreciatively "I am thankful you came when you did!" She frowned "I mean..." thinking about how to phrase this, "the man at the airport was rude". Petre laughed from the front seat and said something in Maori.

"this is what I say to you, there were men in the road, they would not let us come to you" She grimaced, "the Island is not as it was when you came last. There is much sadness" her eyes mimicked her sentiment and she turned forwards, Petre placed his hand on her knee in reassurance.

"Though we are happy you are here Hannah" Petre looked at me through the rear view mirror, "we have waited a long time for you to see the house".

I had spent weeks without work in my small pokey flat in South London, headily dreaming of the home I would make. The beach, the people, the life. I couldn't wait to escape the trials of western life. In London the money was irregular and difficult to come by, working freelance had ensured I could stay in my flat and nothing more, my stomach would grumble for days on end - unless I could find a date for the night.

I jolted into reality as the car lurched forwards. It was the roadblock Maarta had spoken about. 5 guards stood alongside a 4X4 parked in the middle of the track. They wore the same uniform as the men at the Airstrip in Thurston – full combat gear with yellow colours. The man spoke with a strong South African accent - a Boer. He motioned for Petre to wind down the window and poked the barrel of his rifle in.

"ID" Maarta opened the glove box and frantically searched for the papers whilst a second guard came to her window. "Not yours, the girls" he gestured towards me with his gun. I produced the passport from my front rucksack pocket. I nodded thank-you as I passed him my documents. "Lekker, you can go" he handed me my passport and stood aside. "Welcome to paradise". As we passed the 4X4 blocking the roadway it revealed a small camp of men, one sat asleep on a worn sofa lit only by a crude fire in a barrel. The camp seemed to house at least 10 men, temporarily if not permanently.

"Who are these men?" I asked timidly, I wasn't sure if I should ask. "Why are they -"  
"- Privateers" Petre interupted "they bring drugs to our Island" Maarta tuts and shakes her head.

"Petre, please" she starts, "now we should celebrate. We save talk tomorrow" Petre raises his voice and she turns away.

"They take our people from the townships, they make slaves from them"

I gasp, "What! When? When were you going to tell me?" I can't hide my anger, "You let me come here!"  
"Please Hannah, understand we can not tell you on phone, we need you to help Mahiri". I try to calm myself, I'm sure it's not as bad as I am expecting. I have travelled through war zones before, this is nothing I tell myself. But armed road blocks. Sighing heavily I sink into the seat and the rogue spring meets my sore leg again. For a while we are silent in the car, the salty wind rushes past the open window and the sound of the sea accompanies the jazz coming from the crackling radio.

A warm glow in the distance signals the awaiting town ahead. Laluktua. I check my phone for the time but it is dead.

It must have been past 2am when we arrived at the town gates, house lights, gas lamps and camp fires were snuffed, only the sound of a grunting pig could be heard above the rushing tide.

I grab my belongings and follow the track to the house. Petre pushes the flimsy tin door and searches on the table for something. It smells just as I remember it. Turning to Maarta I smile.

Petre lights a gas lamp and it roars with blue energy, he points towards a small room. It is how I remember it - a small camp bed and a bedroll with a bug net. I finally off load my bags and sink into the bed. I thank Maarta again for her hospitality and the door is closed behind me as my heavy eyelids fall into long awaited sleep.


	5. Preparations

Thankyou for the reviews so far, I have written the next 10 chapters already but have had to go back and edit some things! They will be uploaded in the next few days! Like I said before, this is a slow burner so Hannah will not meet Vaas properly for a while, although he will make appearances soon!

Enjoy x

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I didn't dream as I slept, just restful blackness. Two hours passed in a brief moment, the crescendo of the jungle, gathered voices and people busy in the village served as my alarm. Rising from the bed I wrestled the bug net aside and made for the main part of the house. My bare feet padded across the floor of the shack covered by a mixture of rugs and handmade tapestries, Maarta was sat at the small table, cigarette in hand.

"Hannah, you have awoken" she smiled warmly and gestured me to sit beside her, I thanked her as I sat. The large door at the front of the living area was wide open and I could see the village outside, buzzing, alive.  
"Eat" she mothered, placing a bowl of chopped fruit in front of me. " We have busy day today, there is much work at store" She turns to a mound of papers on the table and begins writing. Mouth full of mango and papaya I excitedly recall,

"My house Maarta? Do you think I can move in my stuff?"

"No, you forgetting Hannah, we have party tonight" She looks out towards the village, "The warriors will come home" standing up and motioning for me to hand her the satchel on the floor she assures me we will see the house later. "For now we must go to township for supplies, hurry you are lazy bum!" She tuts at me and I quickly run to change cursing ever teaching her the phrase.

I rummaged through my rucksack to find my make-up bag. Back home in London I would have spent a while getting ready but looking into the small cracked mirror of my compact I felt no need to, the heat made everything uncomfortable, especially with it being rainy season. I threw my hair into a ponytail and unfolded the crumpled shorts and shirt I had stuffed at the bottom of my rucksack.

The village outside of Petre and Maarta's home was frantic with the impending arrival of fathers, husbands and sons. A long table was laid out in the centre of the settlement next to a large bonfire. Excited children sat around a woven basket filled with passionflowers threading them onto long pieces of string, whilst the older children decorated houses, trees and chicken coops with the floral bunting. The village consisted of around 20 homes, some very small and crude and others larger like Petre's, but all run down -once made with woven bamboo and palm, now patched with recycled metal and plastic. As I walked out down the porch steps the metallic smell of butchery caught my nose, I followed the path uphill to where the car was parked the night before and turned to see a small pen of pigs and two men draining a carcass for tonight's celebration.

Maarta Popped her head out of the jungle foliage,

"Come on, Petre is waiting". I hop up some larger steps and find the small red car.


End file.
